Cold
by Foxy'sGirl
Summary: The Australian Outback isn't cold, and Six hates the change in whether as they head further North while avoiding the Mogs.  A companion fic to "Hot" but stands alone.  Rated for a small amount of language.


**So here's another I am Number Four fic, it's a companion to my other Sam/Six one-shot "**_**Hot**_**" but it definitely stands on it's own. Basically, this is what I imagine Six feeling like when affection for our favorite nerd just starts settling in. **

**I don't own this movie, if I did…well, there would have been more of this pairing!**

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They are somewhere in Canada just North of Toronto at a small secluded campsite on the edge of a stream. It's just secluded enough to be nerve-wracking, and Six jumps slightly with every car horn that blares in the nearby suburbs. They are looking for Five, but the Mogs caught up and they had to loop around, taking them into this frigid, torturous place.

John and Sam are in the tent talking about something or other and making it harder to hear the cracking twigs in the forest around them. She wishes that they would just shut up. Conversations have always just seemed so pathetically human to her.

Maybe she's just grumpy because of the weather. It's a definite possibility, she's really not used to the _cold_. For her entire life, she and her Cepan had made it their specialty to use to Australian Outback as their hiding place. The brutal sun, and the scorching red soil made the perfect defense against the light-loathing Mogodorians. They would just run somewhere that the Jeeps couldn't go and then disappear to some hidden stash of supplies hidden weeks and weeks ago. It was always effective, always safe, and it was always warm.

Then her guardian and she had taken it upon themselves to find the others and set about fighting rather than hiding, and they'd had to leave beautiful Australia. Beautiful, safe, and warm Australia.

And now she's here, at this stupid campsite with a couple of love struck boys, shivering her ass off. It's just so _cold_. She doesn't really have experience with the goose bumps that make her hair stand on end, and they make her nervous. Before now, her body has only reacted that way when it sensed that danger was near, and now she can't stop looking over her shoulder. And the shivering, that's the worst. She hates how her body spasms out of her control and her teeth knock together and it's irritating and loud and obnoxious, not to mention that Sam always looks at her in concern and asks if she'll put her bike in the bed and ride in the truck for a while.

She always says no, because there is no way on Earth or Lorien that she's going to let some little nerd look after her.

Sam makes her feel _cold_. When she shuts him down, it's like a layer of ice descends upon the entire area for miles around, and she hates the way that he puts on a transparent brave face. It's even worse when he brushes it off like it's no big deal and she has to be mad at him for longer. 

This mission is hard enough without some boy tagging along and making goo-goo eyes at her. For years, human boys have been reacting this way, and it makes her long for Lorien. Not that she remembers her native planet, but the stories that her guardian told her of singular and eternal courtships drew her in. She doesn't believe in _love_, at least not the way that the humans do, and she prefers not to think about it.

But then Sam has to try again and again with her and make her feel like the ice queen. Normally boys get the message after one or at the most two solid rejections, but this stupid little nerdy human seems to have impenetrable skin or something, because he just keeps trying and trying.

She shakes her head, doing her best to ignore the voices of the chatting boys behind her and focus on the map laid across her map. Five has been evasive, dodging in between entire continents and running like a maniac whenever they get close. Six is starting to think that their fellow number has them confused for the Mogs, the way that they dash away. She doesn't know whether they still have their Cêpan, and whether the guardian has gotten flighty after so many years of running.

That's the opposite of her problem. Hers had always had too much gall, too much rage to run. She'd always told Six, from back before she can remember, "If you don't trust it, make it bleed. If it's still bleeding, shoot it again." Not the prettiest of mottos, she realizes, but it's gotten her through some tough times.

She zips her leather jacket all of the way up to the collar, and sets the map on the ground, hugging her knees to her chest and looking at it again. Maybe if they head north, they can head Five off…

Something lands around her shoulders and her arm swings around reflexively, whacking her attacker on the side of the knee and bringing them down with a grunt. She moves to frantically brush off whatever net or trap that they'd draped over her shoulders and instead her hands land on a fleece blanket. It's blue and still warm, and just running her hand across the balmy fabric makes her feel even _colder_ and she shivers violently.

What kind of assailant puts a blanket on the person they're attacking?

"Sam. I told you not to sneak up on me like that." There's a wheeze of agreement from behind her and she nods. She assumed correctly.

"Sorry, I—" She doesn't want to look at him. She's almost starting to feel bad for beating him up so much.

"Is it broken?"

"Huh?" He's really wheezing, like he must have fallen straight onto his back and knocked the wind out of his lungs.

"Your knee. Did I break it?" She hears him shifting and marvels at just how loud he is. Are all humans this loud? She doesn't remember anyone being loud enough to make her aware of their every move before him. He's going to get them all killed.

"No. But if that's what you're going for, hit a few inches down next time. I broke my tibia falling off of my bike when I was eight." He's always doing that too. He just tells her things about him, things that she shouldn't be curious about. They just seem to slip out, and she flicks him a frigid look to lie about how little she cares.

"Probably shouldn't be telling me those things." She says darkly, all the while unable to decide whether she's going to slide the blanket off of her shoulders or not. It is warmer, but she should reject it on principle. He laughs at her, in that dry sardonic way that makes it seem like he doesn't care. " Why are you out here anyway?" She looks over her shoulder to ask this, narrowing her eyes at him in the dark.

"You looked _cold_."

"I don't need your charity, Sam." She says resolutely, taking the blanket from around her and holding it out to him. He raises his hands like he's surrendering and turns around to walk away.

"I know." It's quietly called back over his shoulder, and she's left staring at the fleece, wanting to wrap herself up in it and stomp it into the dirt all at the same time. She decides on the former, because it really would be a waste to sully it and make another laundry stop for them.

Later that night, when she finally wakes John up for his watch and curls up in the tent for sleep, she looks over at Sam. He's shivering in his too thin sleeping bag, and his extra blanket is still wrapped around her. She lays down with it, boggarting the warmth, but his chattering teeth make her feel _colder_ than ever.

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**Thanks! **


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